


Deal with the Devil

by technocrusade



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alcohol, Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, Bartenders, Blushing, Crush at First Sight, Duck Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, First Meetings, Fluff, Gambling, Gangs, Guitars, Hybrid Alexis | Quackity, Hybrids, M/M, Mentioned Sleepy Bois Inc, Music, Non-Graphic Violence, Rumors, Talking, Teasing, Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and TommyInnit are Siblings, Wine, Wings, Writing Exercise, but its not angst, debatable - Freeform, just for a bit, not teasing in that way, okay, rambling in tags is fun, sbi mafia, they dont know how to talk to each other yet okay, this is a pg13 household, why is there no mafia tag uhm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 10:41:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30037446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technocrusade/pseuds/technocrusade
Summary: Technoblade. The Blood God. The honed blade, the skilled executioner. The swift, the deadly, the merciless. The brute of the operation, the strength of the organization. He could strike down anything in his path, could take on even a hundred adversaries and emerge victorious. He is the force behind some of the most brutal and bloody massacres ever known in recent history. Most say his prowess is utterly unbelievable, and no one dares to refute that statement.In which Quackity meets someone interesting at his job at the casino.
Relationships: Alexis | Quackity & Karl Jacobs, Alexis | Quackity/Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Technoblade
Comments: 30
Kudos: 307





	Deal with the Devil

Flashing neon lights. Clinking glasses. Idle chatter. At this point, it’s all Quackity has come to know.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, exactly. Time flies by when you’re basically doing the exact same thing every day. If he had to guess, it has probably been around one to two years since he first got here. One to two years since he had been a careless eighteen-year-old trying to double his money through gambling, one to two years since he had gotten himself into debt because of it, one to two years since he found himself forced to pay it off through labor. He hadn’t been addicted or anything, but he was unfortunate enough to have made a few rash decisions in bouts of arrogance and rage. He was rash and easily riled up, and his expressiveness had cost him far too much than he was prepared to lose. Thankfully, he’s learned otherwise since then. He’s a lot less emotional and a lot more vigilant, not that he’s still gambling or anything as he had sworn off it long ago. He’s also learned to tolerate this place and all the trials and tribulations it brings.

It’s not that he particularly hates working at the casino. It’s a surprisingly easy job, despite the rather… unique clientele. People aren’t so vocal about their distaste against hybrids anymore, but Quackity isn’t exactly blind to the stares nor deaf to the jeers behind his back. Their customers were just a bit old-fashioned, it seems. Regardless, all he has to do is serve the correct drink orders and occasionally play guitar, and he gets to keep his head. Sounds fair enough. Okay, maybe in hindsight it wasn’t so fair, but he doesn’t really have anywhere else to go anyway. In all honesty, even in his time before working here, he didn’t have many aspirations in life. It was bleak, and rather boring. Perhaps that was why he was so drawn to the thrill of gambling initially. Perhaps he found a certain thrill in the threat of massive losses, in dangling his savings and putting them on the line to depend only on the strength of his hand.

Speaking of gambling, they were expecting a rather important guest today. It wasn’t uncommon for gang or mafia members to find their way into the casino. In fact, with how profitable and popular it was, they were what made up a majority of their customers. It felt like twice a week they would get some big hotshot name redeeming their services, making rumors and speculations circulate throughout the crowd. Normally, Quackity would be unfazed as ever, but he’s currently rushing to tidy up the premises along with the other employees. They’re somehow short on staff, and it had to be today of all days. He also notices the way the other customers are dressed significantly more formal, with hushed whispers and bated breath and frequent glances towards the main doors. It seemed like everyone was a little bit on edge, but he can’t exactly blame them.

Of course, the one and only Wilbur Soot would cause such a stir.

He is known as the Syreni of the SBI, arguably the most powerful mafia family up north. _The Siren._ The silver tongue, the masterful puppeteer. The charismatic, the wise, the pragmatic. The brains of the operation, the intelligence of the organization. He could charm anyone to do his bidding, could convince and sway anyone to take a certain side. He is the strategist behind some of the riskiest yet most successful heists ever known in recent history. Some say he is downright crazy; some say he is simply incredible. Well, there had always been a fine line between genius and insanity; it seems as if Wilbur had just managed to master and embody both.

Wilbur certainly lived up to the tales spun about him. He is quite tall and dressed rather simple yet sleek, with a long brown trench coat over a creaseless white dress shirt with a mustard yellow tie and black slacks. The heels of his polished shoes click loudly in the silence as he walks past the opened doors and inside the casino. The bright lights glinted ominously off the round rimmed glasses perched on his nose; both that and the curly brown bangs falling over his eyes obscure them in their act of sweeping over the crowd and observing them. He had a clear air of importance, of regality with his perfect posture and confident gait. Frankly, he was rather captivating. What really caught Quackity’s eye, however, was the person walking next to him.

A man with long braided pink hair and pale skin, slightly shorter yet clearly more muscular follows not too far behind Wilbur. He dons a wine-red dress shirt rolled up to the shoulders along with black fitted pants disappearing into leather boots. At the sight of the pig skull mask clasped over his face and the pointed ears peeking out from beneath the hair framing his face, Quackity realizes who he is.

Technoblade. _The Blood God._ The honed blade, the skilled executioner. The swift, the deadly, the merciless. The brute of the operation, the strength of the organization. He could strike down anything in his path, could take on even a hundred adversaries and emerge victorious. He is the force behind some of the most brutal and bloody massacres ever known in recent history. Most say his prowess is utterly unbelievable, and no one dares to refute that statement. Quackity doesn’t know much about the man beyond his apparent power, but he’s obviously intrigued. It’s not every day that a situation like this happens.

Whenever Wilbur did visit the casino, he was usually alone. This was a place of discussions over alcohol and playing cards, of exchanging information and settling on agreements. More alliances had been formed under the grand roof than droplets on a rainy day. It had no place for bloodshed or battle, for skirmishes or chaos. Had there even been a threat, Wilbur surely would’ve known how to defend himself or at best just not came at all. Whatever could’ve possibly warranted _the_ Technoblade’s presence in their establishment?

As with everyone else, this doesn’t go unnoticed. Almost immediately, the chatter dies down as all eyes are drawn to the odd pair that had just arrived. Both clients and employees were mumbling amongst themselves, equally stunned to see the renowned warrior in the flesh. A coworker and friend of his, Karl, tugs at his sleeve and mutters of things he can’t really be bothered to care too much about right now. While he was curious, yes, he wasn’t going to pry into matters he had no business in. Besides, he was soon to be called to one of the more private rooms out of the main area so he could play for the tables and he really did not want to mess things up because he knew he would be playing for the new arrivals. He was the best around here, not that there was much competition in the first place. He’s like the only other guitar player here, and he’s surprised the casino can’t afford more. Maybe it's the corruption, but don't look at him.

Sure enough, both of them were being called to work. They slip into the employee’s only room for a brief second to grab what they need. Karl hands Quackity his guitar case and fixes the ruffled feathers of his golden wings while he fixes the other’s tie and smooths out his collar. They couldn’t have a guitarist without his instrument, nor a bartender with a messy appearance.

“I just hope we don’t have to serve some pricks today.” Karl mutters under his breath, and Quackity is inclined to agree. He’s had way too much of rude customers to last this lifetime and a hundred more. Unfortunately, the end to his suffering sure wasn’t coming anytime soon. “I still can’t wash the wine stains off my shirt courtesy of that rowdy nimrod from last week.”

“I hardly doubt Wilbur Soot himself would be uncivilized.” Quackity says, if only to calm down his friend. He loves Karl, he really does, but sometimes he was just too much to handle especially when he thinks everything is out to get him. Like right now.

“We can’t be so sure about his brother.” Karl leans in a bit to whisper conspiratorially, as if he were saying something top secret and not at all common knowledge. “I’ve heard things, you know.”

“Eh, I’m sure he’s fine.” He’s nonchalant, because there really is nothing to worry about. He doubts Technoblade’s reputation is all that he is.

“What could possibly make you know that?” Karl scoffs incredulously, disbelievingly. Wow, it’s like this guy couldn’t possibly fathom the fact that someone’s reputation doesn’t necessarily define them. Well, Quackity can’t exactly blame him when it’s such a dangerous reputation, but still. “It’s not like you’ve met him.”

“I just know.” Quackity waves him off and starts walking towards the room, leaving his friend to curse at him and stumble after him. Karl only rolls his eyes at the next statement. “Call it a gut feeling.”

“Sure, sure, whatever floats your boat.”

They walk into the room together, feeling the eyes on them but are trained to ignore any attention. It’s a circular table, lit with a single overhead chandelier. It’s rather extravagant, but it’s a sight everyone in the room is used to at this point. Karl takes his place behind the counter and goes to polishing drinking glasses while Quackity moves towards the small podium in the corner. He knows he’ll be watched closely, but when he falls into routine of setting up then softly strumming the beginning chords, it’s easy to get lost in what he’s doing.

Music had been one of the only things that had remained a constant in his life, keeping him afloat when it felt like he would drown. He closes his eyes and immerses himself in it, knowing he plays best when he lets his heart pour out from within. His joy brings laughter that intertwine with cheery tunes to uplift spirits even more, his sorrow brings tears that drip down onto forlorn melodies to shatter hearts further, and his rage brings vexations that spin into spiteful symphonies to create angry vortexes of impassioned anger. Nimble fingers dance across the neck of the instrument, leading the music in a waltz of beauty and elegance. For once in his life, Quackity feels in complete control of what he’s doing and it only makes sense. When his hands hold the guitar, they are free to do whatever they want. When his fingertips pluck at the strings, they are free to go wherever they please. When he plays music, he is free to create whatever he desires. He can make worlds out of the void, can make stories out of nothingness and right now he can make images of fancy ballrooms and extravagant ceremonies. It simply fits the nature of their guests right now, after all; they were well-known and to be treated as nothing below royalty.

Quackity opens his eyes as the song comes to a close only for them to meet with a pair of crimson ones. With an involuntary squeak, he realizes that Technoblade had been looking. At him. At the insignificant worker only doing his job. When he scans the other’s expression, he can discern the surprise of being caught and yet he remains infuriatingly indifferent. Quackity is forced to break eye contact first because of the sheer intensity of the gaze, cheeks slowly flushing as the new visage burns itself into the back of his eyelids. Pale skin, defined jawline, delicate bangs, sharp eyes… When had he even taken his mask off, and why did it even exist to hide such a stunning face?

_A single pluck of a string. Intrigue starts off the song, curiosity guides the rest of the intro along._

When he musters the courage to look back up to prepare to perform another song, he notices Wilbur had also been staring at him. Quackity makes eye contact again, but this time the other man perks up and beckons him over. He doesn’t know why exactly, but he’s not one to defy orders from a fucking mafioso. He sets his guitar down and sees that Wilbur is pointing towards the counter slowly being filled up with trays of various drinks, Karl still being occupied with finishing all the orders. Thankfully, his brain is quick to tell him that he’s being told to bring their drinks early, so his body soon follows. His coworker barely spares an inquisitive glance at him as he asks for the first half of the infamous brothers’ orders and takes the right tray to bring it over to the table.

Wilbur is pleasant enough to serve, giving him a warm smile and a few apologies for interrupting his work. Quackity reassures him that he doesn’t mind, that this is also part of his job. The other man tips him extra anyway, and he’s not one to complain so he accepts it with fervid gratitude. Wilbur starts making just enough small talk to fill the air while they wait for Karl to finish up the rest of the order. _He’s friendly and amicable enough_ , Quackity thinks as he walks back to the counter and takes what he presumes to be Technoblade’s order. He doesn’t know what exactly he expected, but serving him was an entirely different experience.

The warrior, up close, is decidedly much more intimidating than he’d imagined. His presence is overpowering, and yet he remains largely stoic. His face barely expresses any emotions, not even when his drink arrives, and that in and of itself is unsettling. Don’t get him wrong, he’s quite pretty, almost surprisingly so, even. His skin looks soft and surprisingly unscathed, his pink hair softens the sharp edges with both their color and how they frame the sides delicately, his eyes are a pretty shade of red and his lips are an equally pretty shade of coral. Sure, the blank look was off-putting, but it would do him really good in poker. Perhaps that’s why he was here in the first place? To gamble, to deceive opponents with an absolute lack of any reaction? If so, that was actually quite smart and… _oh._ Quackity could’ve sworn he had only been lost in thought for a brief moment, but before he even knew it, he had apparently been staring at Technoblade. That’s weird, he didn’t recall their faces being this close before. He doesn’t have time to dwell on it for long though, because he’s left to relish in the feeling of making the other avert his gaze first with… was that a flustered blush crawling up his neck?

Quackity jolts back like he got shocked, heart pounding in his chest as he recoils from the other man and rips his eyes away. Wilbur is looking at the silent exchange between them with an unidentifiable glint in his eyes, and it’s all the guitarist could do to pray and hope that he doesn’t get stricken down for, like, unintentionally being disrespectful or some shit. Rushed apologies spill from trembling lips and he’s quick to escape and slip back onto the small podium he was supposed to be on anyway. Thankfully, it doesn’t look like any of the guests are going after him when they’ve just picked up a deck of cards to play a game of sorts.

Still, it doesn’t mean he’s entirely free. Anxiety flows through his body to his fingertips to strum tense melodies whenever either of the pair glance back at him. With Wilbur, an extra hint of fear slips into his music. With Techno, it’s the exact same except there’s also an unidentifiable feeling bubbling up the pits of his stomach. Quackity’s wings fold further in on themselves in an attempt to make him seem smaller, but it doesn’t exactly work when the color is so bright and prominent. The pinkette takes a sip of his drink as he refuses to look away, and it leaves Quackity with a warm buzz like he’s the one drinking alcohol instead. He tries not to think too much of him, tries to ignore the eyes on him but it’s really hard when he finds himself wanting to stare too. The world almost seems to melt around them, nothing existing out of the shared eye contact and ambient music. Time passes them by quicker than he’d like, and by the time he gets back to his senses, the pair is already long gone as with most of the guests. Begrudgingly, he starts to put away his guitar so that he can finally clock out for the day.

“What the hell was that?” Karl asks Quackity the moment he walks off the podium and up to him. With all the elegance in the world, he simply slumps down onto a stool and groans loudly as he rests his head against the cool wood of the counter. In true best friend fashion, the bartender just giggles at his misery and continues to clean up the workplace while talking. “Why did the both of them just keep looking at you weird like that?”

“Look, I have no idea.” He sighs and presses his cheek into the surface, muffling up his words a bit. He’s genuinely baffled by it all, honestly. “I have never met them before. I don’t even know them at all.”

“It doesn’t seem like it’ll be that way for long, if what happened with Technoblade earlier was any indication.”

“Karl.” Quackity breathes sharply, levelling his friend with a formidable glare to rival the shit-eating grin on his face. “Just shut the fuck up.”

-

Quackity obviously didn’t exactly expect to never run into them again with the nature of his workplace, but he didn’t expect it to be so soon.

It had barely been a few days before news that Wilbur Soot was visiting again spread like wildfire throughout the staff. He normally visited once a month at most, any more frequent than that was positively unheard of. To have such a renowned figure on their premises twice over the span of the same week was sure to stir up some unwanted rumors and garner attention. Even then, Quackity forces himself to remain calm amongst the chaos as he tries to go about his job as normally as he could. This time, he was standing behind the bar counter along with Karl as per his schedule. It was subject to change with the new arrivals, of course, but if he were being honest he’d rather hide as a bartender for now. Even throughout trying to ignore the whispers around him, he still finds himself glancing at the door when it finally opens that night.

Again, Wilbur is stepping into the casino and again, Technoblade is not far behind. As predicted, people start to speculate more but Quackity doesn’t exactly care to contribute to the conversation. He’s more focused on how they are dressed a lot more casually. Wilbur is in a simple yellow sweater, a lopsided and worn beanie, black skinny jeans and sneakers; he looks a lot more approachable even with the sharp look in his eyes as he scans the room seemingly searching for something. Technoblade is in a plain black hoodie and denim pants, mask gone and hair down and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here right now. (Quackity can relate, honestly.) He’s more focused on how the pinkette suddenly looks a lot softer, with the stoic front replaced by a tired expression, bangs messy like they hadn’t had enough time to be styled properly and bulky frame hidden by the oversized sweater. It’s a side he had never seen of him and had never expected to see, and he’s focused on committing it to memory for reasons he isn’t entirely sure of at this point in time.

He’s also focused on how Wilbur’s eyes landed on him, and how he starts pulling Technoblade along to go towards him at a rapid pace. _So much for staying hidden._

“Hello, again. You were the guitarist that played during our last visit, right?” Wilbur smiles as he settles on his seat, giving his order before Techno could even get to sit. Quackity nods and moves to make their drinks in regretful solitude, seeing as Karl had seen what was going on and accordingly left him to it. _That fucking prick._ “Ah, I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“My name is Quackity, sir.” He hopes his voice is as stable as his hands when they pour Wilbur a shot of beer and Techno a glass of wine. He doesn’t take his time with the task, wishing he could get the confrontation over with as quickly as possible. Alas, it doesn’t seem like fate is in his favor.

“Ah, no need to be so formal. You can call me by my first name, and I’m sure you already know what it is.” Wilbur chuckles as he picks up his drink and swirls the liquid inside of it while making small talk. At the very least, the conversation is thankfully pleasant. “I must say, your music is simply marvelous. I wish I had that kind of skill; your technique is to die for. How long have you been playing?”

“Since I was a child.” Quackity puts away the bottles of alcohol, busying himself with wiping down the counters seeing as he’ll probably be occupied with the pair for the next few minutes. Curiosity outweighs his decorum, it seems. “You play guitar?”

“Just a bit. A little hobby in my spare time, so to speak. I’m just dabbling in it a little.”

“That’s a lie.” Technoblade speaks up for the first time that night. Quackity doesn’t like admitting it, but he can’t pretend like he didn’t immediately turn to face him when he opened his mouth. “You’ve made songs before, and they were all good.”

“Woah, that sounds cool.” He means it genuinely, turning to face the brunette to make the sincerity in his sentiments known. He doesn’t know why he’s so surprised. For all his terrifying reputation and infamy, in the end Wilbur is simply one man. He’s no different from Quackity, or Karl, or anyone he’s ever met in his life. He’s human, and has human hobbies and tendencies and attributes. The revelation puts him a bit more at ease. “If you don’t mind, could I perhaps listen sometime…?”

“You flatter me too much, both of you.” Wilbur waves them off in an attempt to remain nonchalant, but the smile he hides in the guise of downing the shot doesn’t go unnoticed. “I should be asking you for lessons, really.”

“I wouldn’t mind, actually. It’s a new experience, at least.” And it’s true. Quackity really doesn’t mind, and would honestly like to get to know them better. It’s not every day he makes friends at work, much less infamous mafia members. Hey, maybe he could flaunt it in Karl’s face next time. That’ll teach him to not randomly leave friends in distress to deal with it themselves.

“That’s great to hear.” The shrill sound of something ringing cuts through their conversation and Wilbur shoves his hand in his pocket to pull out a phone, glancing at the screen before looking back up at them. “Oh, someone’s calling me. I won’t be long.” He excuses himself and walks off, leaving Quackity alone with Techno. Which is kind of not really a good scenario.

You see, even though Wilbur had been surprisingly easy to warm up to, the opposite could be said for his brother. Quackity’s sure his anxiety shows very so clearly in the tense posture of his wings, stiff as they curl around him almost protectively and give him a hug of gold. Quackity’s sure that Techno doesn’t miss his fear, that predator doesn’t miss the telltale signs of skittish prey. Throughout the entire exchange, he had remained mostly silent and unreadable. This time, he barely spared Quackity a glance and instead kept himself occupied with the wine in his glass; the deep red liquid oddly mesmerizing as it sloshes around when he takes a sip for the nth time.

_A tentative strum of a chord. The verse is starting, their story is beginning._

Red. It’s such a prominent color when it comes to Techno; it almost embodies him perfectly. He is painted in the sanguine lifeforce of his victims, and he is draped in the vermilion silks of flowing capes. He is blood and fire; he represents the most primal carmines known to man and it shows in how his ferociousness rivals that of an ancient beast. He is flowing ichor, for the roseate of violence follows him in his every step and marks his path with the casualties of his rise to power. He is fervid flames, for the cochineal of passion thrums beneath the surface and is barely visible under the cracks of his stone-cold mask. Techno is no singular shade of red, he is layers upon layers of rubies in different shades and shapes just waiting to be unearthed and revealed to the beholder. He is no one-dimensional Blood God nor inanimate the Blade, he is no deity nor weapon. Before everything else, he is human and he is far more complex than a simple force of nature meant to obliterate everything in its way.

Red means danger, but Quackity is so very willing to drown in the sea of crimson in Techno’s eyes if it means a deeper understanding. He wants to breach the shallows, to find the warmth beneath the icy waters of his image.

“So, nice night we’re having, huh?” He pipes up, offering a nervous smile at the raised eyebrow he’s met with. He… really doesn’t know what he’s doing. He still fails to distinguish any emotions in the poker face, and is half-considering digging a hole in the ground beneath him and hiding out there for the rest of the foreseeable future.

“You’re not scared of me.” Techno says simply. It’s curt, but it’s not firm or accusatory in any way. More curious, even. That’s good at least; his approach isn’t entirely rejected outright. Quackity doesn’t know how to respond properly to a sure statement like that, so he just tilts his head in confusion.

“Should I be?”

“Surely you know who I am.”

“Of course. Your reputation precedes you, after all.” Quackity finally finishes wiping down the counters, putting the cloth aside as he sits down opposite Techno so they can have a proper conversation. It’s only imperative if he really wants to get his point across. “Technoblade of the SBI. The Blood God. The most adept fighter from the north. Brother of Syreni and Mellohi. Son of the Angel of Death.”

“Then why do you still remain nonchalant?”

“I may fear what you are capable of, but I don’t fear who you are.” Truth be told, he’s absolutely terrified albeit for entirely different reasons. He doesn’t know if he’s overstepping any boundaries by saying this, or if he even holds any right to say it at all, but he feels like they’ll get nowhere if he doesn’t at least take initiative. Techno doesn’t seem like the confrontational type, after all. “There’s no reason for you to strike me down, I barely pose a threat to you or your family. In fact, I’d say there’s even less of a reason when your brother seems to want to get to know me. Besides…” He trails off and looks at Techno in the eye, making sure he knows he’s being serious.

“I doubt your reputation is all of your identity.”

The words hang heavy in the air, but the pressure doesn’t crush them. It’s moreso a simple realization than a groundbreaking utterance, and it does wonders at rendering Techno speechless and making Quackity’s anxiety levels rise like there’s no tomorrow. He feels raw and exposed, like the divulgence had revealed far too much of him than he was eager too and yet he knows this is exactly what he wants to say anyway. Regardless, now that he’s said it, he can’t take it back. Not that it matters when Techno breaks eye contact first and shuffles in his seat ever so slightly, not when Quackity knows he’s succeeded.

“…thanks.” The pinkette only mumbles, looking away with significantly more flushed cheeks than before. They both know it’s not entirely from the alcohol. Quackity would normally tease someone like this, but he decides to let it go for now. Vulnerability is so very easily shattered, after all. He doesn’t want to cause Techno to close up even more.

“For what?”

“For saying that.” Techno meets his eyes once again, expression seeming genuinely grateful. It makes Quackity a little surprised at first. He hadn’t expected to be particularly appreciated for such a simple act of kindness. “For looking beyond the surface, I suppose.”

Quackity only shrugs in response. He’s not exactly special or anything, he’s sure any other person would at least do the same. At least, anyone with half a brain. “I’m just being a decent human being.”

“Haven’t come across many of those.” They both chuckle at that, the atmosphere significantly lighter than before. They fall into a comfortable silence, only broken by fleeting and short conversations where they start to get to know each other. Techno learns to loosen up and wind down a little, and Quackity learns to mellow out and be a little more careful. They speak of topics that flow easily, and those just happen to be hobbies and daily life. Quackity laughs when Techno stares with absolute disbelief at how hectic and irregular his work schedule can be, and Techno smirks when Quackity is baffled by the sheer amount of fights he regularly gets himself into. Time once passes them by quicker than he’d like, and he wonders distantly if that’s going to be a recurring theme when Techno is involved.

Neither of them notice that Wilbur had, in fact, not come back after his call was finished.

**Author's Note:**

> this is self indulgent. i have no explanation for this. this is purely self indulgent.
> 
> theres not much literary devices here beyond the obvious, but i will point out the usage of music as imagery and as an analogy to the start of their relationship. oh and, of course the themes of techno vs his moniker. i just cant let that theme go, this is like the hundredth time ive written about it and i doubt itll be the last. i had bigger plans for this, but honestly everytime i tried to pick up the rest of the plot beyond this point, it just felt awkward. i didnt want to force it so i just tied it off there and published it. i hope you enjoy it regardless, thanks for reading :DD
> 
> (also, 70k words pog!! i cant believe i just started writing two months ago, and ive already done so much and improved a lot :DD i really like how things are going and im pretty happy with myself ^-^ i have more plans in store :DD heres to more writing in the future!!)


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